A/N: This is almost becoming my OTP, but the non-existing fanbase for it makes it a bit hard. But anyways, have some sappy Norway/Sweden smut. Yes, Norway/Sweden, in that order. I'm totally scaring away the die-hard DenNor and SuFin-fans now, aren't I? XD

Well, enjoy anyway! :D

Nothing was as it should, and still, everything was just right. Their feelings were deep, but complex, their hearts pure, but filled to the brim with betrayal and beautiful lies.

Things weren't as they should, and Sweden was leaving the mansion by the morning, leaving this life behind. He would leave Denmark, he would leave Iceland, he would leave the Kalmar Union, but most of all, he would leave Norway. He would build an empire and he would bear the crown, with Finland by his side, as his queen.

Of this, he was sure.

But Norway's bewitching gaze, those bottomless, cloudy irises, stared right through him and a boy, who's just barely becoming a man, can't resist that sort of temptation. The mild breeze of twilight pulled them together, and Sweden's hand found its place on Norway's tender cheek and slipped, lower down the graceful arch of his neck. Norway turned towards the touch, and into it, his eyes closing, as if by impulse. The soft, sky-blue eyes were etched into Sweden's retina and he pulled closer, eyes falling, to full lips, before they fell shut, eyelids heavy and they were close, closer, oh so close.

Their lips met and all insecurity melted away as kisses became heated, fiery and they held each other close, rough linen and soft cotton wrinkling under eager hands and exploring fingers. It was their last life-line in a world that was going to fall apart and be built new again on new foundations, and with new stones. Everything that once were, they became the past that night, and the pain of letting go was relieved by the way their lips moved together, how their hearts seemed to beat at the same time and how their minds seemed to bind together, becoming one.

Norway pulled on Sweden's tunic, leading him further into the room, behind the dirty old sheet that hung beside Norway's bed, and pushed him down on the bed. Climbing on top, his kissed Sweden again, long and deep, all tongues and lips and the pain deep in their hearts somehow wasn't so bad after all.

Sweden gripped desperately at Norway's waist, grabbing him with large hands as he tried to turn them around but Norway just took Sweden's hands in his own, twining their fingers together as he pressed them down on either side of Sweden's head on the lumpy mattress. He pulled his mouth away and looked into Sweden's eyes, his gaze saying more than a thousand words, and shook his head. Sweden laid back against the soft cushions and let his hands wander instead, under the thick linen tunic, exploring pale, smooth skin.

Norway sighed as he kneeled between Sweden's legs, leaving the man laying flat on his back on the bed. He watched his lover with unreadable eyes, a blank expression that spoke nothing of the things flaring up and burning beneath.

Sweden wanted to change that, and he sat up, laying a heavy hand on Norway's neck, his thumb stroking his soft cheek.

Soft, delicate and loving was Sweden's every touch.

But Norway pushed at Sweden's chest, forcing him down again. He let his hands glide, from Sweden's chest, down his stomach, until he finally reached the end of the man's tunic. He bunched the rough fabric up to expose Sweden's tummy, as pale white as the snow in his mountains, untouched by the sun for months.

Hands slid lower, gripping lazily at the lining of Sweden's tented pants and bit by bit, slowly slowly, he exposed the Swede's erection.

A gasp, from Sweden. The hint of a smile, from Norway. And Norway leaned down over Sweden again, bringing their hips closer, the rough fabric of his pants brushing Sweden's arousal.

Another gasp, and a kiss, soft and loving, contrasting from the harsh and violent lip-locks from before.

They kissed, slow and deep, and Sweden's hands found their way down, pulling at Norway's pants and it took longer than it should have, when Norway thrust his hips closer, rubbing his clothed erection against Sweden's, forcing a gasping moan from chapped lips, slight and brief, but it was there, for no one but Norway to hear.

Norway shifted, and straddled one of Sweden's muscled thighs, their limbs intertwining to bring them even closer and at last, Sweden released his lover's cock from the prison of his pants and they brushed together, briefly, before Norway reached down and took Sweden's hand, twining their fingers together, and together they grabbed their joined erections.

Norway set the pace, slow and steady, milking their cocks in every stroke. Sweden gritted his teeth and his free hand gripped at Norway's neck and he kissed him, hungrily and passionate. Norway returned it, slower, a calming force to Sweden's desperate need.

Norway's lips strayed while his hand kept its pace, and kissed down Sweden's neck, sucking firmly on a spot just below his ear. Once done, a red mark was forming on the skin and his whisper was low and husky in Sweden's ear; "Remember me."

A gasp, a moan, and Sweden came over their hands, the inexperience showing its true face as he shuddered beneath Norway, hands gripping desperately after soft skin, finding Norway and pressing him close.

Once down from his high, Sweden commented; "You didn't-"

"I will," Norway interrupted him and leaned down to catch Sweden's lips in a kiss, with so much emotion behind it, Sweden didn't know what to do but to cling to Norway's steady warmth, his slender body and his beautiful mind.

As Norway began removing Sweden's pants with slow, teasing movements, brushing against skin here and there, his warm fingers creating a contrast to the cold northern air in the chamber, Sweden felt himself grow hard again. It was one of the joys of being young and inexperienced. While you didn't last long, you could do it again, and again, until the body was tired and the mind fuzzy.

"Turn around," Norway said, a command that didn't sound like a command, but still, unmistakably, was. Sweden did as he was told, after all, how could he not? Norway's flat voice, his smooth body and his clever hands, was the only thing Sweden had tonight, the only thing he could hold and pretend to be his to keep, forever. The pleasure and the emotion was what he would cling to for centuries, during the years in which Finland would be too terrified to return his affections and Norway would be Denmark's completely and fully.

Norway bunched up Sweden's tunic further, to expose his back and pull at his hips. Sweden buried his face in the sheets, flushing red with embarrassment because this was as vulnerable that he had ever been to someone in this type of situation.

Still, never before had the blood been rushing like this, pumping through his body, heightening every sense and never before had he felt this tingling sensation in his gut spread throughout his body, filling it with heat and pleasure. As new as it was, it was exciting and thrilling, riling him up like never before.

Norway brought down his lips to Sweden's back and kissed soft trails over it before he wet his fingers, traced them down and spread Sweden's cheeks.

"This is going to hurt, " he whispered against Sweden's pale back, lips brushing heatedly. Sweden nodded and bit his lip as Norway slipped one finger inside, pumping a few times and searching for something deep inside.

Sweden gasped as Norway added another finger and found that spot that shot pleasure through his limbs. "Norway..." he panted. Norway hushed softly and pressed kiss after kiss over his back, soothing the pain that came when another finger was added. The pressure and the pain seized when Norway retracted his fingers. "This is going to hurt," he said again, straightening up and placing his cock at Sweden's hole.

It did hurt. Norway pushed in, not gentle or bit by bit, but fast and all the way, all at once. Sweden let out a sound that was something between a moan and a scream and he tensed around Norway's cock, trying to focus on controlling breathing and getting his heart to stop racing.

Norway let out a breathy moan, the pressure, hot and tight and so good, and he rubbed his hands over Sweden's hipbones, trying to calm him, to relax him, to tell him without words that it was alright, that it would get better.

Sweden bit the sheets, hard enough to tear the weak, old fibers between his teeth, while he focused on Norway and what he did to him. The pain, so sharp and intense, was fading slowly and after a minute or so, of stillness and waiting, heavy breathing and soft caresses, Sweden turned his head and stared Norway in the eyes; "Move."

Norway smiled, the way he never did, and pulled out, almost all the way before pushing in again, hard. Sweden groaned and his eyes fell shut. It took Norway a few tries to get the angle right, but when he did, Sweden tensed around him, and let out a gasp, bordering on a moan.

Neither of them lasted for very long, and Sweden came first, spilling his release on Norway's sheets.

Said man followed soon after and they fell together in a mess of intertwined limbs, ragged breaths and heaving chests.

Sweden was the first to move, turning around underneath Norway, gingerly grimacing as the Norwegian's cock was pulled out of him. He sat up, taking Norway into his arms, holding him close, close enough for him to feel like he would never have to let go, close enough for him to pretend that this was forever, and Norway held him in return, just hard enough, just imagining what this could have been, what it wasn't.

Norway kissed Sweden then, sweeter than he ever would kiss anyone, ever again.

Sweden left in the early morning, before the sun would rise over the horizon, Finland at his side, small and trembling. Norway watched them from his window, watched their backs as they disappeared into the darkness. Sweden turned around one last time, his eyes finding Norway's. He lifted his hand, one last wave goodbye. Norway just nodded curtly.

Then, that was it.

And though they did not know it yet, they would be united again, on different terms, in a different time. They would come together and they would spend a hundred years, just the two of them, in the mansion Sweden had once built for them.

It would not be the same though and in the end, their broken love story would at last fall on its own absurdity, the bonds between them growing old and worn, reduced to nothing but alone threads at its places. Their love and memories would rise upwards, towards the sky and out of their hands, into the atmosphere somewhere far away. And someplace up there, they found rest, until their owners below would find them again, and hold them in their hands, suffocating them between rough palms until all that remained was the dust of the dream they had once dreamed.

But the dust would always remain and sneak its way into their minds, creating vivid dreams about times far gone.

And then, in the end, when everything was said and done, that night still remained, all too vivid and clear in their minds.

Review? :D